For either to flourish
by kestrelcadiz
Summary: The sorting has always been a rather nerve-racking experience. Just one moment, in which the rest of your life at Hogwarts can be defined.


**For either to flourish **

He looked to the front at the sound of his name, and began walking forwards.

From the tables around him he heard whispers, back and forth, reminding him uneasily of when they used to pick teams during gym class at his old school. They whispered then too, laughing and sneering and always choosing him last, even though he was actually quite good. All because the biggest of them, the loudest bully didn't like him. At least he wasn't last now, even if it was because of his last name rather than preference. Swallowing, he concealed his nerves, focusing entirely on the Professor standing next to the stool at the front. And on the stool, the hat.

Already dozens of first years had been sorted, some to every House. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the smart, Hufflepuff the hard working and Slytherin for the cunning. He still had no idea which House he'd fit into. Weren't they all important traits to have? What if you were none of them, if those weren't your most important qualities?

The Professor leaned over to pluck the hat from the stool, readying it to be placed on his head. He was sitting down on the stool, when he had a horrible thought. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there, with the hat on until the Professor jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and that he should get back on the train to London?

_What if he wasn't magic?_

He felt like throwing up, even at the thought. Going back to live with them, after seeing this world? Back to chores and loneliness and ratty old clothes? Of course he was magic, he'd had accidental magic just like they said for years! This was just stupid nerves! But the idea wouldn't leave even though he knew it was nonsense.

Looking out over the hall from the stool he saw the older students, some craning to get a good look at him, most just looking eager or impatient. The unsorted first years huddled in the centre together, watching in fascination, laced with anxiety. And suddenly he could only see black. The inside of the hat, he realised, a moment later.

His own heart sped up, though he tried to keep a straight face. This was it. This moment would define the rest of his stay at Hogwarts, maybe even his life after. Oh, he felt queasy.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. It took every inch of his self control not to jump at that. "Difficult. Very difficult. You have a lot of courage, I see. Quite intelligent too. And talented, oh my goodness yes."

It was about this point that he realised the hat was rifling through his mind, his _private_ mind, where he had always been safe to insult those who treated him badly. He bristled, though he didn't say anything. Despite being a gross invasion of his privacy, the hat had mentioned something like this in its song. He thought he heard the hat chuckling at that.

"Do not worry so much. I may be able to see you clearly, but I cannot share that sight with another. That is just how I was made. A mind belongs only to itself. That is something you have long since understood, I see. And that thirst to prove yourself, now that is interesting. ...So where should I put you?"

At that, he was reminded of his thoughts just prior to wearing the hat, worries of not having the right qualities, of being sent back, of this all being a mistake. His breathing sped up, heart hammering as nerves seemed to take over again. He knew it was nonsense, but still. The hat tutted within his mind, and did what was probably the mental equivalent of a gentle slap to the cheek. He sat, shaken for a moment out of his spiralling thoughts by his shock at the action.

"Oh, you dear child," the hat said in his ear. "There is no need to be so worried. You are magical, powerfully so. No one could send you back to the muggles. You will be great you know, it's all here in your head."

He could feel himself calming at the hat's words. It was only a repeat of what he knew to be true, but knowing another being agreed, even if it was a sentient hat, was greatly reassuring. Now which House? He really didn't know much about any of them, besides their mention in the hat's song.

"Oh, shall I repeat them? I must say, though the final choice for you is difficult, more so than normal, it was easy to rule some out immediately."

He blinked. Then why hadn't he been sorted already?

"Well, I cannot in good conscience just sort you wherever my initial impulse might say. It is my job to find the House that suits you best, not the one you want most, or the one you might appear to belong in. As you thought earlier, all people contain the qualities so valued by the Founders, but that does not mean they could thrive in any House. For instance, you know that hard work, diligence, can bring you far, and yet Hufflepuff would be wrong for you. Ravenclaw is the same, even though you love learning for the sake of knowing more."

So Gryffindor or Slytherin? The House of the brave or the House of the cunning.

He remembered the blond boy sorted a little before him, Malfoy? – the way he had strutted in the waiting room, snobbishly declaring to all who would listen of his destiny as a Slytherin. Were they all like him? High bred, rich, arrogant? Is that what others would see if he was a Slytherin too?

"Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that..." the hat seemed to whisper in the back of his head.

He remembered as he was getting on the train, the red headed twins who helped him lift his trunk onto the train. Pranksters, the two of them in the years above him, promising despite the glares of their mother to send their younger sister a toilet seat from Hogwarts. He knew all Gryffindors couldn't be so loud, so brash.

"No? Well..."

The Professor had said a House would be like your family. He had never had one, or at least nothing he would call a family. Which House would be best? Gryffindor or Slytherin? Bravery or cunning? Lion or snake? He had spoken with a snake once. Did that count for something?

Suddenly he sighed. It really wasn't his choice anyway. The hat was the one who chose, the one who could see his head clearly, unbiased. He would likely choose whichever sounded better, instead of what was best for him. Besides, wasn't it the job of the hat to do this? Who truly knew better which House you would suit than something that had seen the minds and sorted, literally, thousands of children before?

The hat was made for this. He was determined. Whatever House was going to be his, was his, even if he couldn't see why at first. He was nothing, if not adaptable.

"If you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

Tom heard the last word as it was shouted aloud to the hall. The relief that went through him was probably visible, but he didn't care. He had a House. He was meant to be here. He was magic.

Removing the hat he stood, striding confidently to the table where his Housemates sat. He ignored the worried looks the other tables were giving him, the sneers that were barely concealed sent his way by the older Slytherins. As he sat at the table he gave superior looks to the other first years there, even as they hissed the word _"Mudblood" _to him over and over.

"I don't know how you managed it, Riddle," said Abraxas Malfoy, leaning forwards. "But you will live to regret tainting this House with your blood."

In return he lifted an eyebrow, as if questioning the candidness of such a threat, and was pleased when he saw the boy flush a little.

He only had to prove his worth and the others would follow. Muggleborn or not, he was intelligent, he could work hard, and would surpass them soon, like he had surpassed everyone at the orphanage. He could be brave, standing up to those who thought he shouldn't be here because of his blood, and proving his worth. He was cunning, enough to be subtle, enough to notice, enough to survive. He would find their weaknesses and strike, show his power.

Behind him the sorting continued.

The hat had chosen Slytherin. Here he would thrive.


End file.
